


On The Couch

by l57371



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 18:53:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6670756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l57371/pseuds/l57371
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House looked ... almost happy in sleep. His muscles were relaxed and his face and body were loose and lanky, not held tightly in control as they were when he was awake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Couch

219\. House/Wilson – House falls asleep in oncology lounge and Wilson is working late.

The room was dim, the security lighting only left in the hallways, the glow of the computer screen illuminated his desk. He heard footsteps, the click of high heels on a hard floor, tile or terrazzo. But the floors were carpeted...

The door opened and in strolled Carmen Electra. Oh damn, a small part of House’s brain thought. Definitely dreaming then. She opened her mouth to speak but quickly morphed into the form of Wilson, suit impeccable and tie straight, hair pristine, leaning on his doorway.

“Well, here I am. What did you want?” Wilson pushed off the door frame with his shoulder and strolled casually over to the desk, leaning forward on his hands and looking House directly in the eye. “What do you want, House?”

He tried to answer, “I want you, I want you to talk to me again, I want to be friends again, I’m sorry,” but his mouth wouldn’t work.

House jerked his head up as he woke up with a start, instantly wincing at the twinge in his neck and shoulders from falling asleep in his office chair. He quickly took inventory. Pain in his neck, shoulders, head and leg. This was definitely a two-Vicodin moment. Tiredly he popped the cap, downed a pair of pills dry, and then glanced at the whiteboard in the next room.

The patient was going to die, he was going to do it soon and he was going to be in massive amounts of pain while doing it. House had exhausted every test he could think of and was now grasping at straws, but he was too tired to think, too tired to make the connection, too tired to solve the puzzle. It was there, the answer was just in front of him, he knew it, he could see it hovering just outside the edges of his vision.

He dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and leaned his elbows on the desk, mentally beating his brain into submission and trying to make it perform the acrobatics he needed. No go, nothing doing. Dammit. He needed sleep, and he needed it now.

Speculatively he eyed his reclining chair but decided against it quickly. He’d had enough of sleeping upright. Briefly he considered the sofa in Wilson’s office, but it was built for looks, not for comfort, and also about six inches too short for him. He always ended up with his knees bent up or his feet hanging off the arm. Not conducive to a good night’s sleep.

That left the sofa in the Oncology lounge, to which Wilson had ever so thoughtfully provided a key. It was the middle of the night and he was unlikely to be interrupted there, his minions were busy re-running tests. Best of all, Wilson, he knew, had gone home at least five hours previously. Not that the man himself had told him, he had to find out by catching the sight of Wilson boarding the elevator with briefcase and coat in hand out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t even stop in to say goodnight. Not anymore, not since their fight the week before.

House heaved a deep breath and pushed himself carefully to his feet. He hesitated a few seconds to make sure his leg would hold his weight, then hobbled carefully to the hallway and made his way slowly to the lounge.

When he reached the door he fished out his keys, sorted through them, and fitted the key to the lock, swinging the door open and flipping on the light. Good, empty, he thought, switching the overhead light back off again and instead turning on a lamp on a side table by the sofa. He shucked his jacket and shoes, rearranged the throw pillows on one end of the long couch and laid down with a heavy sigh.

He shifted once, moving one of the pillows down and under his right knee and turning slightly, then felt his eyes slide shut and was quickly fast asleep.

 

Wilson blew out a long breath and pushed away the file that he’d been working on, covering his eyes with his hand and squeezing his eyes shut, trying to rub the sleep out. He leaned back in his chair and covered is face with both hands, thinking.

He had indeed gone home – well, “home” – many hours earlier, returning to his empty, sterile hotel room to sit in an empty, sterile chair and eat an empty, sterile room service dinner. Afterward he attempted to watch TV, attempted to read, attempted to do some work, but he could concentrate on nothing there. It was like the sterility of the room just sucked the will to do anything right out of him. So he re-dressed and returned to work, his comfortable, familiar office, and decided to catch up on the paperwork stacks that constantly threatened to topple and bury him.

Now it was past midnight and he could hardly keep his eyes open, but still his brain wouldn’t shut down. Three times he had tried to call House, and all three went ignored by his supposed friend. Should have known better, he berated himself, should have known he’d just ignore me. Just like always. He took his hands away from his face and placed them carefully on his desk and pushed himself upright.

“Coffee,” he stated to the room in general. He looked around, wondering to himself exactly who he was talking to. “Yes. Coffee.” He picked up his coffee mug - House’s coffee mug - that he’d pilfered from diagnostics and made for the Oncology lounge, intending to make himself a pot to last the rest of the night.

When he arrived he keyed open the door and walked in, reaching blindly to the side to flip on the overhead light. He continued into the room but stopped suddenly when he saw the sofa, House fast asleep on it, snoring gently. He backtracked quickly to the door and shut off the overhead light again, hesitated a moment to make sure he hadn’t woken the man, then carefully picked his way over to the kitchenette counter. He placed the cup quietly down and turned to regard the sleeping House.

As Wilson watched he felt a tightness in his chest he didn’t even know was there loosen and a warm feeling begin in his stomach, radiating outwards. House looked ... almost happy in sleep. His muscles were relaxed and his face and body were loose and lanky, not held tightly in control as they were when he was awake.

Wilson was beside the sofa before he realized he’d even moved. House mumbled something and shifted in his sleep, turning his head towards the back of the sofa. He drew up his leg a little more and Wilson sat down hesitantly in the space vacated by his knee. For a moment he dithered back and forth. Should he wake the sleeping man and find out exactly why he was still here, or let him continue sleeping and just ... let it go?

Without even thinking about it, he raised a hand and put it on House’s knee, rubbing lightly over top of it. What am I going to do with you?

 

House was dreaming again. This time though it was hard to tell dream from reality. He dreamed he was sleeping on the couch, but some rational sliver of his brain told him that this part was actually happening, dream or not. He dreamed the lights were on, and then they went back off again. He dreamed Wilson came into the room again, but that had to be dream, because in reality Wilson didn’t like him too much right now and was staying far away. This dream was turning bad, and he groaned and shifted, turning away from the reproving glare on dream Wilson’s face.

Wilson was touching him. House heard a groan leave his throat and woke himself up. No, it wasn’t a dream, Wilson really was touching him, cupping his knee tenderly.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, voice thick with sleep

“I work here.” Wilson smiled slightly.

“Not at this hour you don’t,” replied House, rubbing his eyes. He noted that Wilson had yet to remove his hand and wondered vaguely how long it would be before he would. Maybe if he stayed really still Wilson would forget it was there.

“Couldn’t sleep, decided to catch up on some paperwork. Why are you still here?” Wilson’s hand began to rub little circles on the knee.

“Patient. Refuses to survive. Tests are useless,” House muttered, yawning widely. His eyes flicked to the hand on his knee and back to Wilson’s face.

Wilson watched his eyes move. He tightened his fingers just a little bit and returned House’s gaze unflinchingly, raising his chin as if daring House to chase him off again.

House dropped his eyes. “I’ll go if -” he started to say, but was overridden.

“I’ll just let you sleep –“ Wilson spoke at the same time.

Both men fell silent again, regarding each other warily.

“You don’t have to go,” Wilson tried again.

“You can stay, if you want,” House said at the same time.

This time they both smiled a little and Wilson chuckled softly.

“My turn, you don’t talk,” he said, holding up his other hand. He kept the first on House’s knee, rubbing gently. “Obviously you’re tired and need sleep, so I’m just going to make a pot of coffee and take it back to my office. You can stay, I won’t interrupt again.”

House was silent. He raised an eyebrow.

Wilson got the hint. “Okay, you can talk now.”

House nodded slightly. “I was going to say, I’ve actually had about two hours and I’m not really that tired anymore. And you look like you need sleep as much as I did two hours ago. You should stay, and I can go back to my office.”

“No, it’s fi-“ Wilson stifled a yawn in the middle of the word, “fine.”

“Right, you’re not tired at all.” House pushed himself up on his elbows so that he was semi-upright and regarded Wilson critically. “Your turn. You lay down. Now.”

“Really, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Wilson protested.

House could hear the half-hearted effort in his voice. He decided to throw caution to the wind. Damn, he thought, he must really be tired if he was even considering this idea as a good one.

“We could share…?” he made his voice rise a little at the end, making it into a question rather than a suggestion.

“Share what? Share the couch? It’s not big enough for two people to sleep on, House.”

The older man pushed himself up to a sitting position, which placed him right in front of Wilson’s face. “It is if we’re friendly about it.” He glanced pointedly at the hand on his knee, then reached his own hand behind Wilson’s neck and pulled lightly, drawing the man closer.

Wilson didn’t even put up a struggle as he processed what House had just said. “Friendly? What do you mean, friendly?” He tried to continue talking but House captured Wilson’s lips with his own, stifling the words. The hand on his neck tightened and pulled him closer. For a moment Wilson was too stunned to respond to the lips on his own. But just as House was about to pull away and chalk it up to a really bad idea, Wilson pulled himself together and kissed back, moving his other hand to House’s shoulder.

For a moment they stayed that way, afraid to push it further, reluctant to break apart, lips sliding together and away and back again. Finally the need for oxygen overruled and they separated slightly, but kept their hands where they were, their faces close and sharing the air.

Wilson broke the silence. “Well that’s … really friendly,” he whispered, going for a light tone but ending up sounding breathless.

House smiled. “I’m a friendly guy,” he whispered back.

Wilson snorted and pulled back, laughing softly. “Of course, how could I have forgotten?”

House tightened his hand on the back of Wilson’s neck again, attempting to draw him back into another kiss. “So you gonna stay then?”

“You want me to?”

“I want you to.”

Their lips met again, and this time there was no hesitation whatsoever. Tongues met and explored, examining mouths and teeth. Hands roamed and tugged at clothing. House eased himself back onto the couch, pulling Wilson with him until the younger man was planted firmly on top of him, bodies lined up almost perfectly. Wilson avoided the damaged thigh by expertly maneuvering himself to lay in between House’s parted legs, which had the added advantage of bringing their groins into intimate contact and, even through the layers of clothing, he could feel the heat pouring off of Wilson and into him.

The heat had the bonus effect of making him squirm in delight, causing both men to moan and pant. House immediately started to pull at Wilson’s shirt, tugging it out of his pants and up his back and running his palms over the heated flesh he exposed. Wilson attempted to do the same to House’s t-shirt but was stopped by the sofa cushions on his back and himself on House’s front, so he pulled back onto his knees and drew House up with him. Wilson grabbed onto the hem of House’s t-shirt and drew it roughly over his head, tossing it to the floor before diving in to kiss him again.

House stopped him, pushing him back a little, and Wilson let out a whimper of frustration. Instead House began fumbling with the buttons on Wilson’s shirt, sliding them open as quickly as he could manage, licking down the skin of Wilson’s chest with his tongue as it was exposed. Finally he managed the last button and pushed it roughly off Wilson’s shoulders, dragging it down his arms and over his hands and throwing it onto the floor.

House brought his arms up around Wilson’s torso and pull him closer again, still licking over the skin of his chest until he found a nipple, and paused to lick and nibble at the hard nub of flesh, delighting in the breathless gasp Wilson gave as a result. Wilson tangled his fingers in House’s sleep-mussed hair, holding the man’s face against himself and sprinkling feather-light kisses of his own on the crown of House’s head.

Finally House’s stomach muscles began to give out and he started to sink back onto the sofa again, pulling Wilson with him, but the other man broke out of the embrace and remained kneeling between House’s spread legs. House frowned and looked up at him, arms still outstretched and reaching for Wilson. He grinned a wicked grin and began undoing his belt slowly, pulling it out of the belt loops inch by crawling inch, putting on a show for House that he was content to sit back and watch. Wilson popped the button of his pants, lowered the zipper, and then … stopped. House blinked.

Wilson leaned forward and ran his hands over House’s chest, tweaking his nipples on the way down, spanning his fingers as wide as they would go over his chest and stomach, stopping at the waistband of his jeans. He slid the button free and worked down the zipper, then pulled up on the belt loops, urging House’s hips up and off the sofa. House complied and Wilson slid the jeans and underwear out from under him in one smooth, quick motion, letting them sit just at the top of his thighs. Then he carefully lifted the elastic of House’s boxers over his straining erection.

House gasped as the air hit his painfully hard cock. He kept his eyes on Wilson’s, waiting for any sign of hesitation or indeed sanity in them that would make him suddenly stop and come to his senses. So far, though, so good, and House thought Wilson looked just as eager for it as he himself was. Then Wilson’s hand wrapped lightly around his cock and he didn’t think at all.

Wilson’s grasp was teasingly soft and he gave one small, tentative stroke, up and down, while keeping his eyes pinned on House’s. He watched as House’s stomach muscles jumped and quivered and his eyes rolled back in his head, mouth working but saying nothing. Again he stroked, lightly, slowly.

House’s voice came out in a guttural grunt. “Harder!” His hips bucked upwards and Wilson got the hint. He tightened his grip and began a rhythm that was fast and sure, leaving House gasping for breath and writhing beneath him, pressing his head back into the armrest of the sofa and clutching desperately at Wilson’s arms.

Wilson used his other hand to caress House’s hip and belly, running it down between his thighs and fondling his balls softly. When he felt House’s testicles start to draw up, he stopped pumping his fist over House’s throbbing dick, instead running the pad of his thumb over the head, collecting and spreading the drops of fluid down the shaft of his penis. House gasped and grunted, forcing his eyes open and staring at Wilson in disbelief. Wilson smiled and resumed his rhythm, hard and fast, and House came almost immediately, shooting hot come up and over Wilson’s fist in spurts, coating his belly and leaving glistening trails of white in the coarse hairs below his stomach.

House’s breath came in ragged gasps, rough as a steam train, as he recovered from the rush, his hands gesturing vaguely and lips moving with no words. Wilson pushed his own pants and underwear down over his ass and off of his cock, hard and twitching in anticipation of its own release. He grasped himself firmly and started pulling, fast and jerky like a horny teenager, moaning at the contact of his own hand.

Finally House’s eyes cracked open and he took in the lovely sight of Wilson, half naked and flushed between House’s legs, hand on his own cock, head rolling back and eyes squeezed shut. He briefly considered letting Wilson finish himself off while he watched but desire got the better of him, and he reached down, covering Wilson’s fingers with his own.

The position was too awkward, he had to shift, but he was reluctant to let go of Wilson. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, moving back slightly to give himself room to lean forward into Wilson’s body, then shifted his grip slight on Wilson’s cock. Ah, much better, he thought. Being able to both stroke his cock and kiss his lips at the same time was perfect, and he took swift advantage of both.

He wrapped his long fingers around Wilson’s shaft and began a quick rhythm, holding his fist tightly around him and leaving no skin untouched. With his other hand he dragged Wilson’s head forward and captured his lips in a bruising, open-mouthed kiss. Wilson merely rested his hands on House’s shoulders and went along for the ride, panting and moaning and clutching convulsively at House. His thighs strained and his hips bucked forward, nearly dislodging House’s hand, and then with a wordless cry he threw his head back and came, hard, hitting House’s chest, splashing his belly and mixing his come with House’s own.

Finally his legs gave out and he collapsed backward onto his haunches, body shuddering, head hanging low onto his chest. House watched him as he recovered and waited for a biting comment to jump to his lips, but nothing came. Seeing Wilson come down from orgasm had made House speechless, and his throat tightened and heart clenched at the sight. With nothing to say, House just reached out and drew the younger man to himself, again laying back against the sofa cushions, pillowing Wilson’s head on his shoulder, and wrapped his arms tightly around the still shivering man’s back.

After an eternity that was way too short, Wilson pulled back a little and pulled up his pants, helping House to do the same. He climbed off the couch, shaking slightly on rubbery legs, and wet a paper towel at the sink. Stepping back to the couch he quickly swiped at the mess on House’s belly and then on his own. He dumped it into the garbage can, then with a frown crumpled up two or three more clean ones and dropped them on top. Then Wilson returned to the couch, taking up his former position, his head on House’s shoulder. He nuzzled his nose into House’s throat, humming in satisfaction. House just held him tight.

Finally, just before dropping off to sleep, House whispered, “See? I told you it was big enough to share, if you’re friendly.” He felt Wilson’s smile against his neck.

 

In the morning, House woke up with the answer to his patient’s problem and a crick in his neck, and Wilson woke up with a hard-on.

House cured that as well.


End file.
